


picture on the wall

by bloodandpepper



Series: new paths to eden [6]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Everyone Has Issues, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Porn With Plot, Talking During Sex, handjobs, soft Malik, well a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29462538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandpepper/pseuds/bloodandpepper
Summary: A small, folded piece of paper was pinned next to the drawings, its edge already half-opened, yellowed from use. Expecting to find another astronomy sketch, Altaïr unfolded it – only to stare at the soft lines in slack-jawed confusion.He had no right to take the snippet off the wall, yet he felt the urge for closer inspection almost bodily. Once the paper unfolded to its complete size, the fine details of the drawing were evident: every line was in place, every shadow were it had to be.That was him.Well, not him in a physical sense, but as a very accurate drawing of himself - his own face was gazing back at him from an almost-three-quarter profile. Creases had dug into the paper, as if it had been opened and closed often, yet with care.
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Series: new paths to eden [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2154309
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	picture on the wall

**Author's Note:**

> This could be read as a second chapter to 'what was once', but can also stand on its own.
> 
> Have some fluff.
> 
> Enjoy.

A scar ran across Malik’s left nipple, bisecting the aureole to describe a low parabola that ended close to his armpit in a sharp turn. From there, another line picked up, steadily widening on its course over his triceps, until it was joined by two more that swirled together to where Altaïr’s eyes refused to follow.

He swallowed the bad taste that lingered in his mouth, averting his eyes.

Grey light slowly seeped into the small chamber, announcing a new day, the rain still a soft pitter patter in the background, but otherwise the bureau lay blissfully silent.

Malik’s even breathing served as a rhythm that accompanied the scene and Altaïr found the strength to let his eyes roam again- still shying away from the very proof of his biggest failure.

One wouldn’t consider Malik a beauty the tales sang of, neither was he sculptured after the heroes the legends of old told, but there was a subtle elegance to his features Altaïr had always found fascinating. Sound asleep, he appeared younger and with his constant scowl gone, he looked all the more like the boy he’d fallen for in what felt like ages ago.

Altaïr wouldn’t deny the lines that had sunken into his features though – especially since he himself was source and reason for quite a few, if not all, of them.

Malik had changed, too, there was no way around that fact, but his handsomeness stayed, even prevailed. And as long the other remained so blissfully asleep, Altaïr could selfishly enjoy the view he presented to his heart’s content, for he had no right to do so for the longest time.

Praised be the Prophet that the linen blanket had skirted down to pool around his hips and Altaïr was tempted to ask for it to be removed completely, but he wouldn’t dare ask his God for any more luck than he already was blessed with.

Malik must practice his sword style frequently, because he hadn’t lost an ounce of his muscle mass and agility. He knew that a boyish blush was rising to his cheeks when he thought about how that fact played into last night’s activities to his outmost delight and a pull in his nether regions answered in kind. He was no longer a horny teenager, but his libido in regards of Malik had always remained on an all-time high. 

Frankly spoken, he had never felt the desire to be with anyone but him. No fast trysts or dalliances the other assassin’s favored, no awkward visits to brothels to satisfy his body’s needs. He was well aware that his smile would buy him quite a few possibilities, but in the end, they all sounded hollow to Altaïr and held no appeal.

He’d been stuck to dream for an agonizing long time and, more often than not, it was barely enough to satisfy his need. Now that reality came crashing back in with Malik and his honest offer to get back together along with all the issues and challenges that would provide, Altaïr was glad and frightened in equal measures.

Glad, because he had the man he loved back in his life, and frightened, because there were so many things he would always be unable to righten, no matter how much he tried.

Again, his eyes followed the meandering scars that ran across the other’s torso, only to shy away from directly looking at his maimed arm.

He was a coward, such a coward.

Clutching the blanket that pooled in his lap, he turned to face the wall.

It wasn’t an unusual sight to see it covered in sketches and maps, some more detailed and developed than others, but there was one thing that made Altaïr abandon the warm bed and rise soundlessly to come to a halt in front of them, silently grateful for the distraction they provided.

Malik had always been the studious one, invested in science and all that entailed, but seeing sketches of constellations among the ones of cartography and botany seemed strange. Altaïr wondered if there was a connection between the lines on earth and the ones that spanned across the skies. It was all math in the end, wasn’t it? Altaïr hated math from the bottom of his soul.

Taking in the fine ink work, he made out the one the Greeks called Lyra, and next to it a drawing of Aquila, of course, for they were so intertwined in their Arabic meaning.

A smile rose on his lips. Of all the many stars upon the canopy, it had to be those two Malik would draw.

‘Both eagles, falling and rising…’ Altaïr whispered, barely audible. 

A small, folded piece of paper was pinned next to the drawings, its edge already half-opened, yellowed from use. Expecting to find another astronomy sketch, Altaïr unfolded it – only to stare at the soft lines in slack-jawed confusion.

He had no right to take the snippet off the wall, yet he felt the urge for closer inspection almost bodily. Once the paper unfolded to its complete size, the fine details of the drawing were evident: every line was in place, every shadow were it had to be.

_That was him._

Well, not _him_ in a physical sense, but as a very accurate drawing of himself - his own face was gazing back at him from an almost-three-quarter profile. Creases had dug into the paper, as if it had been opened and closed often, yet with care. Belatedly he got aware that the Prophet wouldn’t look kindly upon such an elaborated image, but he wasn’t able to put it back to where it belonged, so he stood and stared, lost in thought until Malik’s voice startled him out of his trance.

‘There were times when I couldn’t get you out of my head, always seeing your features whenever I closed my eyes for the tiniest moments.’ His voice was rough from sleep, as he rose to a sitting position, dragging his hand through his sleep tousled hair.

‘And other days, I wasn’t able to remember your face.’ Searching Altaïr’s gaze, he waited for a way too long second, before he continued. ‘I don’t know which was worse.’

Coming to sit cross-legged with the bedding draping round him, Altaïr couldn’t help but see him as an utterly serene creature, lounging ethereal in the white light of the early morning.

‘For days like these, I made this drawing. Originally, I hadn’t even planned on making one. I had been working on a commission, but whatever line I drew – it turned into something different, until your eyes were staring back at me.’ Here, Malik’s smile grew sardonic out of sheer habit. ‘Believe me when I say that I detested the conspiracy my heart and hand had, because my conscience had no say in that.’

Altaïr stared at the worn piece of paper still in his hold, gazed at the lines that formed his face and, again, he was glad and frightened at the very same time. When words finally made it past his lips, it was like liberation and confession.

‘I didn’t mean to bring harm upon you, of all people.’

A mirthless laugh answered him and Altaïr cringed at the sound.

‘Yes. The funny thing is that, yes, I know. I’ve always known – and believe it or not, but that’s one of the reasons I’m able to leave this all behind me, as you should, too: You intended no ill. You are no inherently bad person.’ Here he paused again, gauging his reaction with his head cocked to the side. ‘Take a look at the drawing in your hands, Altaïr. The person looking at you isn’t a demon. Even at my lowest low with rage and hate eating at my soul, I wasn’t able to picture you like that, because it’s not who you are.’

Eying the paper, Altaïr wasn’t so sure and Malik being ever perceptive noticed his hesitance instantly. Reaching out for him with an open palm, he gestured for him to come closer.

‘Come, I’ll show you. Plus: For as much as I enjoy the sight of you standing naked as a jaybird at the foot of my bed – I would enjoy you _in_ my bed even more. Come here. Please.’

Altaïr followed partly out of instinct, partly lured in by the soft ‘please’, climbing into the bed again with the drawing still held secure. He huffed a laugh when Malik first leant against the wall and then pulled him in with his back to his chest. Malik’s arm sneaked around his belly and a chin popped up on his shoulder, leaving a playful kiss there.

Sinking back into the embrace was as easy as breathing, and Altaïr gave in to the sensation for a moment, cherishing their closeness.

How had he missed this. Missed it beyond words. Beyond anything that made sense.

He thanked the Prophet that it was returned to him despite his failure, his flaws in character.

As if Malik had sensed where his thoughts had wandered to, he picked the paper from his hands and folded it open again.

‘I don’t know who guided my hand in order to draw this – I’ve always doodled and sketched, but a fine drawing like this? No. Never. Yet it came into existence because I needed it.’

Another nib to his shoulder, this time closer to his neck.

‘Look at your eyes, Altaïr. What do you see?’

Focusing was hard with Malik mouthing up his throat to his ear, breath soft and hot, but he tried because this was important for both on them.

‘I…I’m not sure. There’s conviction. And also doubt. Fear.’ He had to pause when Malik bit into his earlobe, before he licked his way down his neck again. Exhaling a shaky sigh, Altaïr continued. ‘And pride. Too much pride.’

An affirmative grunt had to serve as an answer for his observations, as Malik switched to give his left side the same treatment of small kisses and licks. Setting the drawing aside with care, he let his hand wander over his torso, where it came to rest over his heart.

‘None of those aspects turn you into a demon,’ he said.

This time, it was Altaïr’s turn to answer with a mirthless laugh. ‘But neither do they make me a good person.’

Malik’s fingertips were gracing over his nipple in circles by now and a sharp spike of arousal raced down his spine to settle between his legs. The moan came unbidden, yet unrestrained, and Altaïr felt the other’s smile on his skin.

‘I really hope you are well aware that all of these traits have a positive side, too,’ he said, never ceasing the movements of his hand, sending sparks through Altaïr’s veins. ‘Conviction gives you aim. Doubt keeps your morals in check.’

Altaïr should’ve expected that the hand would unquestionably roam south, but Malik’s lectures were still occupying his mind as much as his body was played by the other who knew every soft spot.

‘Fear keeps you alive, my friend.’

Fingers were closing around his cock, stroking languidly. Altaïr’s breath was erratic by now, coming and going in uneven gasps, as he grew more excited with every pull and tug of Malik’s hand.

‘And pride is a form of self-worth.’

His brain refused to listen for any more input, so if the other went on with his teachings, he would have to do so as a monologue without him as a percipient. Knowing Malik, Altaïr knew that _he knew_.

Altaïr was withering against the body behind him, his hands clawing into the covers for support, but he wasn’t able to still the movement of his hips that jerked up against the hand that spread pleasure throughout every cell of his being. Malik was aroused, too, his erection pressing into the small of his back and Altaïr tried to keep in mind to return his attention to that fact as soon as possible.

His sighs and moans filled the small room and a part of him was deeply embarrassed while the other part actually enjoyed screaming his need to the heavens for the entire world to hear. The reality laid in between, so Altaïr tried to keep his voice down a bit without hiding his pleasure.

Orgasm took him by surprise despite its slow built and he jerked in Malik’s hold, spilling over his hand with a soundless scream, as the other worked him through the aftershocks until the spasms subsided and a deep satiation sank into his bones.

Sweat cooled on his skin and his breath regained its steady rhythm again. Lying boneless against his lover had always been a state of body and mind he enjoyed beyond words and he reveled in it now more than ever.

Then he remembered Malik’s needs and twisted in order to return the favor – only to be stilled rather effectively by an arm that crossed his torso again and a soft ‘shhh’ against the shell of his ear.

‘No. There’s no need for that,’ Malik whispered. ‘This is about you.’

Heaving a deep sigh, Altaïr sank back into the embrace again, a sated smile on his lips. Picking up the discarded drawing again, he took in his own features once more.

Yes, now he noticed the things Malik saw in him, too – the good and the bad. No demon was staring back at him, no monster that was out to reave souls.

Gingerly, he refolded the paper.

There was no reason to look at it any longer.

**Author's Note:**

> [uhm, hello](http://blood-and-pepper.tumblr.com/)


End file.
